Night Out
by nazzymcc
Summary: Getting a drink with Imoen never goes the way you plan. Post ToB.
1. Pub Crawl

This was by far the greatest injustice Kylia Coltrane had ever been faced with in her young life, and she felt it her moral obligation to express that.

"But _why_ can't I go with you?" she demanded of her mother, who stood at the bottom of the stairs still blinking from the blindsiding revelation that she was somehow the villain of the piece. Maera decided not to give up on logic just yet.

"Because it's been nearly a year since we last saw your Aunt Imoen, and your father and I would like to spend some grown-up time with her this evening."

Logic had no place in the heart of a nine year old denied the chance to go into town with her favorite aunt. "It's not fair, Momma!"

Maera folded her arms, deigning not to make the obvious reply. "You get to spend the night out in the grove with Amë Jaheira," she pointed out. The sullen silence with which she was rewarded made it clear how little consolation this alternative was. Maera sighed. "That's what's going to happen, Ky. Imoen will be here for at least a month. One night is not going to kill you."

Kylia's stomp back up the steps indicated that death was actually a possibility, and Maera closed her eyes and entered into the meditative state sometimes required by mothers to remind themselves that they do genuinely love their offspring. She heard a familiar approaching step, and remarked to her husband, "Remember when we _weren't_ trying to ruin her life?"

Kelsey sighed nostalgically. "Ah, the innocent days."

Maera faced him with a sighing shake of her head and a small chuckle. _Speaking of grown-up time…_ "So, Master Coltrane…got any plans for the evening?"

"Weeellll," he said, drawing out the word speculatively, "I did manage to talk this really spectacular girl into going and getting a drink with me tonight."

"Did you?"

He nodded. "Of course, her sister's coming along to play chaperone, but I'm pretty sure I can bribe her into looking the other way."

"And why would you want to do that?"

"Well, I'm hoping if I get my lady friend tipsy enough, she'll let me put my hand under her shirt."

Maera pressed a scandalized hand to her chest. "You'd take advantage of a drunken woman?"

Kelsey stepped closer, leaning towards her ear and dropping his voice to a whisper. "_Terrible_ advantage." They grinned at each other, and Maera was about to theorize on what else this hypothetical woman might allow while inebriated, when Kelsey's eyes darted over her shoulder to the stairs. "Incoming nine year old," he murmured.

Maera heaved another sigh and turned back towards the stairs. "Yes, Ky?"

Kylia bore a strong resemblance to her father, with her red-gold hair and oval face, but she had Maera's dark eyes, and there were times when she crossed her arms and set her chin that she might as well have been a miniature version of her mother. This was one of them. "I think," she said pugnaciously, "that it's not a fair trade for me to spend the night with Amë Jaheira, because I can do that any time, but going to Berdusk with Aunt Imoen is a lot more rare. So you really can't present it as an equal alternative." She looked pleased with herself, having crafted a logic trap the adults could not possibly extricate themselves from.

"Duly noted," Maera said, her expression unchanged. Kelsey realized with a shiver that these staring contests were going to become a lot more common in the coming years. Kylia grumbled, sensing that her mother was winning the game by refusing to play. She fled back up the stairs once more, no doubt to plan her next assault on the fortress of maternal refusal. Maera watched her go. "Oh, Kelsey," she sighed, "what is going on here? Our sweet, beautiful little girl is turning into a stubborn, opinionated hardass!"

"She does take after her mother," he replied. She gave him a questioning glance out of the corner of her eye, and he shrugged innocently. "What? I was agreeing that she's beautiful!"

Maera rolled her eyes, unable to prevent the internal smile from showing. "You're just trying to get into trouble now, aren't you?"

"That's why I'll need to get you drunk."

* * *

By the time Imoen appeared at the door two hours later, Kylia had come to accept that it was her lot in life to suffer, and faced her exile with stoicism. But Maera knew her daughter well enough to know that she loved spending time with her godmother, and after a night out in the grove, all would be forgiven, or at least forgiven enough that she would keep her sulking to herself. It didn't hurt either that Imoen was not above bribery, and had brought presents, which prompted a fit of glee that sent Kylia bounding down the hill to the grove and Jaheira's waiting arms with barely a backward glance.

They had lived in the house on the hill three miles from Berdusk for a decade now, and paradoxically, Maera found she had grown fonder of both the house and the town in the past few years, now that Kylia was old enough to make a return to adventuring feasible for herself and Kelsey. Sometimes, depending on the nature and length of the engagement, they were able to take their daughter with them on their travels. Much as she had loved Gorion and Candlekeep, Maera had no desire for her own child to have such a cloistered upbringing, and in consequence, Kylia had already seen a great deal of the Sword Coast, at least from horseback. But it was this semi-itinerate lifestyle they had adopted that endeared Berdusk to Maera all the more. It was important, she felt, to always have a place to come back to. Home was all the more special after a return.

Berdusk was not a large town, but it was big enough to provide the more important amenities of civilization without the overwhelming problems that could arise from a large population. The town's axis turned on the central market square, which was skirted by a number of pleasantly diverse shops. There was a variety of temples, schools and other public institutions, and tucked away near the home of High Lady Cylyria was Berdusk's most unusual facility, the Twilight Hall, an unassuming sort of structure that served as the closest thing the Harper organization had to a base of operations in the entirety of the Western Heartlands. Maera liked the Harpers well enough; after all, both Gorion and Jaheira had been counted in their number. But anything related to the Harpers was Work, and she was determined that this evening would have as little to do with Work as possible. They would spend their night out in descent upon Berdusk's other civic claim to fame: its numerous and excellent taverns. Their first stop was the Bell and Crown.

"So that didn't work out so well, but I think I'm making real progress," Imoen said, taking another pull from the interestingly colored cocktail she was drinking. "But when I get back to Baldur's Gate, Belt and I are going to have a long talk." She raised an eyebrow at Kelsey, who was shaking his head. "Somethin' wrong, Red?"

"Every time you start talking about this guild of yours, I feel like I should do some kind of penance at the nearest Waukeenar temple. And maybe take a bath."

"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. You know my guild isn't out to rip off honest merchants." She folded her hands and adopted an exaggeratedly businesslike posture. "We seek to encourage the more socially useful applications of the thieving skillset. There is so much more to us than mere wealth redistribution."

"But if you happen to line your pockets a little along the way…?" Kelsey looked at her with expectant amusement, and Imoen stuck her tongue out at him.

"Then we're doing it right!"

"Speaking of thieves," Maera interjected, throwing the subject change between them while she could, "have you heard from Aran Linvail lately? Last time we were in Athkatla, we didn't have a chance to stop in. Of course, it's been a while since we've been south at all. It's been a busy year."

"Last I saw him, he was…well, he was Linvail. He's been a lot of help dealing with the Night Masks, who are, I might add, an unbelievable bunch of jerks." She took another drink. "Sime broke up with him again last month, but you know how that goes."

"They always get back together," Maera chuckled.

"She mainly does it to keep him on his toes. But if he manages to bat his eyelashes enough to get her to take him back before Highharvestide, I stand to make a lot of money in the guild betting pool."

From the Bell and Crown, they wandered to the Golden Sheaf, which had, in Maera and Kelsey's opinion, the best kitchen of any tavern in Berdusk, and was thus the perfect place for supper.

"Wait." Imoen's hand hovered in mid-air, her bite of roast chicken halfway to her mouth. "Don't they have three kids already?"

Maera snickered. "Fertility has not been a problem."

"I, for one, am fine with that," Kelsey said. "The more kids Kelvim and Mirena have, the less trouble _we_ get in for having only contributed one grandchild."

From dinner at the Golden Sheaf, they found their next round of drinks at the Harper's Hand. Situated next to the Twilight Hall, it was one of the smaller taverns in town, but boasted one of the best drinks selections. "We couldn't take Ky with us on our last trip," Maera said, wondering if the morose twinge she felt at that thought was because of the booze, or in spite of it.

"Good thing you can leave her with Jaheira, then, huh?" Imoen gave her drink a swirl.

"Yeah," Maera agreed, but her heart obviously wasn't in it. Kelsey and Imoen traded a long-suffering glance. This was not a new tune.

"Mae. C'mon," Imoen said. "Stop beating yourself up about it. Jaheira would have retired anyway. Now she gets all the fun of molding that mushy little mind to her specifications without having to go to the trouble of popping the kid out herself. You and Kels do what you do best. It's win-win."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Imoen flicked a drop of icy condensation from the table at her sister. "You do not guess, you know. You're a good mother, Mae. This guilt thing is stupid and you know it." Kelsey mouthed a silent 'thank you' in her direction and she beamed at him. "So what was this trip that was too hot to take the squirt along?"

"We were asked to look into some disappearances in Suzail," Kelsey said. "People literally vanishing off the streets in broad daylight."

"Like being teleported?"

"Exactly."

"So what was going on?"

"Twisted Rune," Maera said. Imoen gave a low whistle.

"They've unfortunately had a lot of success in Calimshan in the last few years," Kelsey added, "so apparently they were trying their luck in Cormyr."

"We gave them a good firm spanking and sent them home to their mothers," Maera said. "Or whoever it is liches go crying to when they've been thumped."

"Harper business?" Imoen asked, her eyes shrewd.

"Sort of," Kelsey said. "Lady Cylyria asked us to go as a favor to a friend."

"And she's a Harper. Seriously, I don't know why you two don't just join the Harpers, as much running around as you've done for them lately."

"I have wondered the same thing!"

The speaker was a short, stocky figure in a plain robe with just a hint of arcane embroidery around the collar and cuffs. He paused on his path from the bar back to a table on the opposite side of the room, carrying a trio of pints in each hand, and his bearded face was bright with a genial smirk. Maera sighed.

"Hello, Drogan."

The dwarf inclined his head in greeting, and said to Imoen, "Young miss, I have often said to myself, 'Drogan, those Coltranes are a fearsome pair, and such a great help they are, too! I wonder why they don't take the Harp officially?' And I've not yet heard a satisfactory answer to that question."

"We have our reasons, Drogan," Kelsey said apologetically.

"And we've told you what they are," Maera added. "Repeatedly."

"Oh aye, you have." Drogan was the picture of good humor. "But erosion works just as well as a pickaxe. It only takes longer."

Maera made a face at the wizard, but couldn't keep herself from a small smile. Drogan was impossible to stay upset with, a fact he was more than willing to use to his advantage. "Shoo," she said, making a brushing gesture with one hand. "I'll play with you later, Drogan."

The dwarf laughed and continued towards his table. "I look forward to it!"

"He's got a point," Imoen said, raising a meaningful eyebrow at her sister and brother-in-law.

"Oh, not you too," Maera groused.

"I'm just saying!"

"And so am I!" Maera pursed her lips and took a long pull from her drink. She lowered her voice slightly. "Im, you know it's best that The Last Bhaalspawn not belong to any organizations." Imoen could hear the capitalization. "Nobody but us knows what really happened at the Throne. We can tell the story a thousand times, but who really believes it? All anyone knows is there were a bunch of lunatics running around putting half the Sword Coast to the torch, and then all the sudden, there weren't. And that I was the most visible one left standing. There are still a lot of…assumptions about me floating around. About what I can and cannot do. I'm more than willing to help the Harpers, but I just don't think it's wise to put them in that position. Better that we stay freelance. For now, anyway."

Imoen wanted to counter with the fact that Elminster himself was a Harper, and publicly known to be, but settled for a shrug. Maera had never asked for the awed whispers that still followed her, and if she felt remaining a free agent was the best thing for herself and her family, so be it. She had a feeling that amusing dwarf mage would wear her sister down eventually anyway. "So whose round is it?" she asked, pushing her empty glass towards the center of the table.

"Mine," Kelsey replied, and he was halfway out of his seat when a brassy, insistent clanging overrode all conversation in the room. Every head turned as the patrons fell silent. Kelsey's brow furrowed. "That's the fire bell."

A moment later, another bell joined it, slower and deeper but no less urgent. Maera listened for a moment, head cocked. "And that's the temple of Helm." Another, from the south, more silvery and sweet. "The temple of Selûne." And then, very close by, a fourth bell, tolling fiercely, a note of desperation ringing in every peal. Her eyes cut across the room, and were met by Drogan's, his face wrinkled with worry. So much for avoiding Work. "That's the Twilight Hall," she said, raising her voice over the tumult. "Something's wrong."


	2. In Case of Emergency

Cammy Duskwind, the silver haired half-elf who tended the bar most nights, was first to the door. She jerked it open, and scanned the view. "Smoke to the south," she reported to the room at large over the still clambering bells. "And it looks like a crowd's formed on the square. I wonder-" Her words were cut short by the unmistakable _thunk_ of arrows striking wood. Had she been a few inches to the left, she would have been in their path. Cammy hastily slammed the door; the tips of the arrowheads were visible in the wood.

The common room of the Harper's Hand was seized in the grip of momentary shock. Its clientele – the eponymous Harpers, off-duty guards, and visiting adventurers – were no strangers to violence, but none of them expected to find it there that night. Maera looked down at herself, clad in her favorite red dress. Notably absent was her swordbelt, and the weapon that normally hung there upon. She made a face. "Well, this'll be fun," she muttered to herself, standing. "Cammy, did you get a look at the archer?" The barkeep shook her head. Maera's dark eyes swept the room, appraising the double handful of patrons, all still firmly rooted to their chairs. "Are we going to sit around admiring each other all night, or are we going to get out there and figure out what's going on?" she asked. Kelsey and Imoen shared a grin as they stood.

"An excellent question," Drogan remarked mildly, giving his table full of young Harpers a placid gaze that left them squirming.

Maera arched a pale eyebrow at the mage; he gave her a small, knowing smile in return. She looked back at her table. "Im. Reconnaissance. Go. We'll meet you on the square."

Imoen tipped her sister a mocking salute as she faded from view, her invisibility spell shielding her from the eye. "I'm gone," the empty air chirped, and the door opened and shut so quickly one might have missed the motion altogether.

Maera turned to her husband. "We'll split up. I'll meet you in back of Fergus Blackhammer's shop. You go first; I'll wait a twenty count."

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "Yes, ma'am." Arrows thudded into the door again as he made his exit.

When Maera got to twelve, one of Drogan's tablemates spoke. "M-mistress Coltrane," said the young man, a nervous looking sort wearing a holy symbol of Mystra, and no older than twenty, "you're not armed!"

She shrugged. "Kid, I'm always armed." He blinked at her, and she sighed. "Don't worry, I'll improvise." She darted out the door, and disappeared into the increasingly smoky night.

"Now I think," Drogan said, still as calm as if he were discussing his favorite pipe, "that it might be wise for us to see to the Twilight Hall. Wouldn't you agree?"

* * *

Imoen had learned to wall climb on the slick stones of Candlekeep, and she'd had years to perfect her craft since. The timbered walls of Berdusk posed no challenge, so up she went, scouting from the rooftops. What she saw was not encouraging. There were armed bandits, orcs and hobgoblins to be exact, out in the streets, gathering up on a position in the market square. She couldn't quite make out what was going on, and grumbled a curse. Farseeing didn't work when the caster was invisible and that just wasn't _fair_. Though maybe with a little tweaking, it might be possible to -

Her ruminations were cut short by a scream from below, and the sound of running feet. A young man and woman, barely sixteen if they were a day, were fleeing hand-in-hand, an orc hard on their heels. They'd probably just been out necking in some out of the way alley, Imoen thought, and now they were running for their lives. That wasn't very nice. These were modern times, after all, and she was a staunch proponent of necking. She noiselessly descended the roof to the eaves, and as the orc passed beneath her, she pushed a loose roofing tile off the edge. The slate met his helmeted head with a resounding clang, and he dropped to his knees like a felled ox. The young lovers stopped short, staring first at the groaning orc and then at each other. Imoen grinned as the young man's chest puffed slightly, as if he'd willed that tile into being solely to defend his girl. "Play your cards right and this could end well for you, my friend," Imoen murmured with a smirk as she turned and set back off towards the square.

* * *

Kelsey took momentarily shelter on the porch of a narrow townhouse. He thought about cursing the fact he couldn't cast a decent invisibility spell, but it wasn't worth the effort. It hadn't come to him in the past twenty years; it probably wasn't going to now. He often bemoaned the fact that Imoen far outstripped him in defensive ability to Maera, and she always pointed out that his offensive capabilities were definitely superior. Such conversations tended to end with her providing him with a detailed demonstration of just how much she enjoyed watching him work, as it were.

Come to think of it, that was probably the only reason he still bothered to complain about it.

From between the slats of the porch railing, he could see them. Orc and hobgoblin bandits, roaming the streets. The townsfolk had taken to their homes, candles and lamps doused, doors locked, and Kelsey could hear the clash of arms over the bells, just a street or two over. The Watch was putting up a fight, at least, but he knew this was not their area of expertise. They were guards, not soldiers. That made it his job, and Maera and Imoen's, to take the burden off them. There were far too many innocent people at risk not to end this as quickly as possible. As he watched the streets for his chance to duck into the nearest alley, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks for the three miles of countryside between this insanity and his daughter, and for Jaheira, who would shame a mother bear in Kylia's defense.

His nose wrinkled at the scent of the smoke – there was an odor particular to the smell of burning buildings, an unpleasant acridness he'd smelled far too often in his time. The orange flicker at the corner of the block was growing brighter, and he had an idea. Maybe he couldn't make himself invisible, but he could certainly do this.

He glanced about; the street was empty. He jogged up its length a short distance, eyes focused on the fire. Taking a deep breath, he raised his right fist, slowly uncurling his fingers as he exhaled. He could create spears of ice as thick as his leg and hurl them with such force they could crack stone, but this required a more delicate touch. The trick was to take all that cold and water and diffuse it, just so…

A two foot deep snowdrift appeared over the spreading fire, which _whooshed_ out of existence with a hiss of disappointment. Kelsey nodded to himself with a half grin, but he couldn't spare long to be impressed with himself; he could hear the heavy thudding footfalls of mailed feet behind him. He dove across the street, into the alley, and flattened himself against the wall. He didn't have far to go now. He hoped Maera was all right.

* * *

"I'm always armed," Maera muttered, rubbing her stinging hands together. "I'll improvise." She gave the unconscious hobgoblin at her feet a poke with her booted toe. "Me and my big mouth." The hob lay in a heap, with the remains of the bit of building timber she had broken over his head in splinters around him. She felt a twinge of conscience; in the morning, she was going to have to find out who owned the house and explain to them why there was a hobgoblin-shaped hole in the framing of the new room they had apparently been in the process of adding on. One just didn't expect that sort of thing in the midst of home renovation. She stared down at the inadvertent homewrecker and cocked her head, frowning. There was something familiar about the crest on the hobgoblin's jerkin, but she couldn't place it. "Where have I seen that before?" she asked him. He groaned in response, and she decided it was time to get moving.

She armed herself with another piece of wood and wished longingly for Daystar, hanging in oiled comfort on the training room rack at home. The poor sot at her feet hadn't even been nice enough to carry a sword – the heavy bladed axe he'd borne was so far from her style it wasn't even an option.

Looking about to get her bearings, she saw she was already nearly halfway to the square. Though the temple bells were still ringing, the fire bell on the square had stilled, and that was a bad sign. It meant the crowd Cammy had seen was not the fire brigade. She cut through someone's back garden; the house was dark, but she thought for an instant she saw a child's face in the window. Her heart pounded with panic until she reminded herself Kylia wasn't there – she was safe, she would be fine.

The entire situation sawed on her nerves like a fork on glass, and her temper rose with every step she took. This was _her_ town, by the gods. She _liked_ it here. Who did these jackasses think they were? Glass shattered to her left, and her jaw set. She rounded a corner and saw a pair of orcs attempting to force the door of the house across the street. She hefted her piece of two by four and smirked darkly. _Oh goody_, she thought. _Targets_.

She caught the first one across the back, and immediately ducked to avoid the second's swung fist. It was close quarters against the wall, and she dropped the wood as she fell into a crouch, bracing herself on her hands and sweeping a leg out in a circular kick. The feet of the nearer orc tangled on hers and she grinned as he went down in a flailing knot of limbs. Balthazar had taught her that move. She would have to tell him she had finally had a chance to use it.

She rolled hastily to avoid her fallen target and retrieved her improvised club. It was heavier than her sword, and she knew she would have to finish this quickly if she didn't want to over-exert herself too soon. She aimed for the orc's midsection; he moved to block and she swung upwards, clipping him across the face. He howled, clutching his nose, and that brought her the precious seconds she needed to seize him by the neck and slam his head into the wall. Eyes glazed, he slid down the wall, landing on top of his comrade, who was trying to regain his feet. Maera panted five quick breaths before sprinting down the next alley, grinning fiercely. A good workout was the best remedy for aggravation.

* * *

Imoen narrowed her eyes, judging the distance between rooftops. She took a running start and flung herself across the gap, landing lightly on the rough tiles. From the shadows near the chimney, she watched the square. The bandits had definitely set up some sort of barricade out there, and the Watch had positions in the streets feeding into the square from the south. Was there anyone on the north side? She pondered following the rooftops around to see, but sighed and nixed the idea. That was better done after rejoining Maera and Kelsey.

The bells had all stopped ringing – Imoen hoped that meant the priests and Harpers had joined the fight. If the Twilight Hall had been taken, that meant the bandits had managed to get around the Watch in numbers of more than one or two, and then they'd really have a problem. She heaved a sigh. All she had wanted had been a nice evening out with her sister and brother-in-law. She didn't get to see them nearly often enough these days, what with one thing and another, and it just wasn't fair. But then she brightened, realizing that if she was irritated, Maera must be _furious_, and it was always good fun to watch her sister take out her frustrations on the stupid.

In the alley below, she saw a flash of movement, but as she tensed to prepare a spell, she realized it was human, and moreover, she recognized the form. It was Kelsey, moving cautiously down the alley behind the next house over. If she hurried, she could head him off before he reached whatever rendezvous point he and Maera had chosen and just follow him there. She leapt for the next roof and clambered down the side of the house, only to be met by the sight of a hobgoblin in oddly familiar livery not three feet from her landing spot. She held her breath as his head turned…and then her stomach sank as his eyes fixed on her. Her invisibility spell had worn off. She swore by every deity she could think of, and a few she had probably just made up as she inhaled quickly, a spell on her lips, but before she could utter a syllable, one large hand fastened about her throat. _Crap_, she thought.

* * *

Kelsey heard a disturbance in the alley ahead. He slowed his pace, moving as quietly as he could. There was a hobgoblin up there, and a human, it seemed. He caught sight of them, the enormous figure grasping a small female's throat, and he drew in a horrified breath. A flame arrow could dispatch the hobgoblin without hurting the girl, he thought; then they turned enough for him to see the prisoner's face, and his jaw dropped.

"Imoen?"

That was a stupid thing to do, but he was simply so shocked, he couldn't help himself. She rolled her eyes, evidently well aware of the foolishness of her situation. The hobgoblin's chest rumbled as it chuckled.

"She yours, little man? Gonna beg me not to hurt your woman?"

Kelsey blinked, and before he could stop himself, he answered honestly, "Well…no."

* * *

Maera was almost there, and she had not seen anything of either Imoen or Kelsey yet. They could more than capable of handling themselves, she told herself, but that did not stop the whirring buzz of worry that had set up shop in her gut.

There were people up ahead, and she tightened her grip on her impromptu beating stick as she poked her head slowly around the corner, just far enough to see the three figures standing in the middle of the alley. She gave herself an instant to be surprised at the identities of the two humans in the scene, and then she had to fight not to laugh as Kelsey responded in the negative to the hobgoblin's demand for pleading, if only because she could just imagine the look on Imoen's face when he did it.

* * *

That was not the reaction the hobgoblin was expecting. "Huh?"

"Well, she's not. My woman, I mean. Though she's probably around here somewhere." A length of wooden planking whistled as it sailed through the night air. The hobgoblin's helmet rang like a bell as it struck, and the hobgoblin, getting a firsthand lesson in how a clapper feels, reeled. Imoen squirmed out of his loosened grasp, as Maera stepped around him, and leveled a blow to his torso, knocking the wind from him and leaving him sprawled on the ground, insensible. "Oh, there she is," Kelsey said brightly. He smiled at Maera. "Hi, honey."

"Well, it's not Blackhammer's, but this will do." Maera kissed his cheek. "Run into any trouble on the way here?"

"Just this."

Imoen coughed and rubbed her throat, her expression sour. "'No'? Really, Kels? You couldn't fake it for five minutes?"

Kelsey spread his hands. "What? He did ask. And besides, what was stopping you from fireballing the top of his head off or jabbing him with any one of the dozens of knives I know you've got on you right now?"

Imoen continued to glower at him. "I was about to! But then you came barreling in, throwing the whole thing off, and…NO? Of all the things to be a stickler about!"

He crossed his arms coolly. "Imoen. Are you the woman I've been married to for ten years, or are you the sister-in-law who picks my pocket for beer money?"

She pursed her lips, eyes furtive. "You noticed that, huh?"

"I paid for your last two rounds, didn't I?"

"Three."

"You two done yet?" Maera leaned down, lifting Imoen's chin to get a closer look at her sister's throat in the dim light. "Doesn't look too bad. Hopefully we can get it looked at soon." She rubbed her hands together, looking about the alleyway as she collected her thoughts. Another axe-wielder, she noticed sourly as she spared the hobgoblin a final glance. Didn't anyone have the decency to carry a weapon she actually wanted to use? "We need to pool our information, and then we should see how the Watch are holding up. We may be able to accomplish more helping them than anything else." She shot Imoen a pointed look. "And damn it, Im, pay for your own drinks."

Imoen stuck out her tongue. "You're mean, Mae."

"Yes I am. No wonder you and Ky get along so well. You probably bond over your mutual suffering."

"Among other things. She reminds me of me, sometimes."

"I know. That's why I worry about her."

Imoen snickered, then pursed her lips thoughtfully, gazing down at the hobgoblin at their feet. "Is it just me, or does that crest look _really_ familiar?"

"It's not just you," Maera replied. "I can't place it either." She glanced at Kelsey, who shrugged.

"This is killing me!" Imoen muttered. "Where have I seen this before?" She chewed on the side of her thumb, staring intently at the crest. Then her eyes widened. "Oh my gods. Mae? This guy's with the Chill."

"The Chill?" Maera's eyebrows climbed. "Wow, there's a name I haven't heard in a while. I thought we'd pretty well put them down."

Imoen shrugged. "That was twelve years ago. Plenty of time to rebuild if you really mean it."

"Do you think it means something that they're the ones doing this?" Kelsey asked, worried.

"You mean, are they here because of me?" Maera's eyes grew distant as she followed the thought down its various probable courses. Her expression darkened. "I need a sword."


	3. Civil Defense

Gorish the orc had been having a really excellent evening. He'd smashed out the windows of a stuffy looking townhouse, helped himself to some choice looking pieces from a jeweler's shop, and there were now four full-to-bursting wine skins bouncing against his sides as he jogged down the street back towards the square. Then the spell hit him, and he couldn't move. His limbs went stiff as a Helmite's neck, and he landed with a wet squelch, face first in a gutterside mud puddle.

"Better roll him over, Mae," said the light voice of a human female. "Don't want him to suffocate."

A pair of hands grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, turning him over and setting his back against a wall. He could still blink at least, and he did, hard, looking at the three humans in front of him. The taller of the two females (Mae, he supposed) stretched her arms over her head, rolling her neck. "Damn, he's heavier than he looks," she said.

"Dead weight," said the first speaker with a shrug. She was short and thin, even for a human, and her hair was a ridiculous color.

"Hard to avoid when you paralyze them, I suppose," the other replied. Gorish shivered, or would have, as her dark eyes focused on him. She wore a dress, like most normal human women, but something about the way she carried herself said she was not normal at all. He knew that posture, though he hardly ever saw it in the circles he moved in. Bandits rarely lived long enough to get to the level marked by that easy, controlled carriage, and the ones who did didn't stay bandits. Smiling in the overly friendly manner of a shark, she dropped into a crouch in front of him. "Hi there!" she said brightly. "My name's Maera. And you are? Oh, right. Sorry about that. Now, here in a few minutes, the spell my sister cast on you is gonna wear off, and we'll have some questions for you. And I know what you're thinking – we don't look a thing alike. You'll just have to take my word for it."

Gorish narrowed his eyes in a hopefully contemptuous fashion. Like he cared. One pink-skinned human was about the same as another. Maera's smile sharpened and formed an edge. Suddenly, a chill of fear ran down his spine. _Don't let the dress fool you_, said the smile.

"Don't worry," she said softly, almost as if she were soothing a nervous horse. "I'm not going to hurt you. Besides, it's not me you need to be afraid of." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, back towards the male standing behind her. "It's him."

Gorish approached that idea cautiously. His first instinct was a snort of derision, but for one, he wasn't sure how well he could snort in this condition, and for another, danger lurked in the corners of the tall woman's continued smile. The man she'd indicated didn't _look_ dangerous – thin, redheaded, and not visibly armed. But this trio had just turned his perfectly enjoyable night on its ear, so it was probably a good idea to keep his opinions to himself. He wasn't a simpleton, after all.

Maera leaned slightly to the left to catch his eye again. "Have you ever met a sorcerer, friend?" she asked. Gorish tried for a shrug. His eyebrows moved a little. "No? Well, let me clear up a few common misconceptions for you. For instance, a lot of people think that the big flashy stuff is what takes a lot of power. But really, any joker with a little talent can blow things up. You judge a sorcerer's power by how well he handles the little things, the things that take a lot of fine control." She glanced over her shoulder. "Like what he's doing right now."

The man was holding up his right hand, thumb and forefinger about three inches apart. Blue-white electricity arched between them like some alchemist's apparatus, rhythmic as a heartbeat. It was rather hypnotic.

"I'll grant you…I'm not the most objective judge. But _I_ think it's pretty impressive, don't you?" She bobbed her head in time with the lightning's rhythm. "Back and forth, and back and forth, and all he has to do is stop concentrating and BOOM." She brought her hands together in a sharp, sudden clap. Gorish flinched violently. "Hey! You moved! Good for you!" she said, giving him a cheerful clap on the shoulder before resting her chin on her hand expectantly. "So when your tongue starts working again, why don't you tell me what you and your friends are doing trashing my town?"

Gorish could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The lightning seemed to be growing brighter. Was it just his imagination, or was the sorcerer not even paying attention to it? "Ughmph," he tried.

The small woman Maera had called her sister seemed to materialize beside him. He had almost forgotten about her, but now she was unnervingly close to him, and her smile was every bit as pointed as her sister's. They had that in common, at least. "No rush, buddy," she said softly, "but remember: none of us have all night here."

* * *

"Oh, Gorish, no, no. See, that was your first mistake." Kelsey patted the young orc on the shoulder with gentle disapproval. "Her parents said they wanted her to marry someone who'd made something of himself. That just means they want to be sure that their daughter doesn't getting involved with some layabout who can't keep two coppers in his purse. I can almost guarantee they were not advocating banditry as a career choice."

"So this is all your little dwarf friend's fault?" Imoen said to Maera. The sisters stood a short distance from where Kelsey sat with his new friend, gazing towards the square.

"Well, you've met Drogan. I can't say I'm surprised. And honestly, it's kind of refreshing," Maera replied. "Violence and property destruction that _isn't_ related to me? It's nice, really. Except for the fact that it's still going on."

"You really think so?" Gorish asked Kelsey, who nodded emphatically.

"Absolutely. My advice is to go home, and ask her. The worst she can do is say no."

Imoen rubbed her arms. The night was growing chilly. "And our boy Gorish doesn't know who hired them."

Gorish looked towards them when he heard his name. "But he's here, I know that." Maera swung back towards him and he tried not to flinch again. Kelsey seemed a very likable sort, once you got past the lightning, but his wife was just plain scary. "Um…I dunno know his name, but I saw him. A couple of times. He was all excited about the raid, talkin' about how he'd be here to see it."

Maera began to pace. "And he was human, right?"

"He _looked_ human."

"Could you tell where he was from?" The young orc shrugged, and Maera pursed her lips. "So we've got a human with a grudge against Drogan, and the resources to pay a highly organized bandit group to raid an entire town."

"That's a lot of money," Kelsey said, eyes lost in calculation.

"I never got a cut of nothin'," Gorish grumbled huffily.

Kelsey cast his newfound protégé a stern look. "Just another reason to get into a more stable line of work."

"And it's overkill, too," Imoen mused. "If our mystery man wants revenge on Drogan, why not just hire an assassin or three?"

"Two reasons come to mind," Maera said, still pacing. "One: pillaging satisfies some sort of deep-seated need. Or two, and this is the more likely option, if you ask me: public humiliation. Gorish, do you know if Master Moneybags every mentioned the Harpers?"

"Well…yeah. Yeah!" Gorish nodded vigorously. "Talkin' about Harpers stickin' their noses where they don't belong, and this'd learn 'em."

"Uh huh…" Maera turned on her heel, deep in thought. "Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"

"Ummmm…" The orc shrugged helplessly. "Not really. Oh! He first showed up a couple months back, when it was still hot, and I thought it was real weird he was wearing such heavy robes during Flamerule."

"What color were they?"

"Black."

"Just black?"

"Yeah…'cept for a weird purple thing on his chest."

"Zhent," Imoen said. Maera stopped.

"Of course."

"But if he's hiring bandits," Kelsey interjected, "he's probably not operating with Zhentil Keep's blessing."

"Option three." Maera held up three fingers. "He's on the outs and needs to do something showy to get back in." She turned to Gorish, reaching for the hilt of the short sword on his belt. "Gonna need to borrow this, my friend. And by borrow, I mean, can I have it?" He went rigid, eyes huge, as she drew his sword, giving it a few experimental swings. She tested the blade on her thumb and nodded. "Good enough."

"I noticed that the Watch had barricades on the south side of the square," Imoen said. "And since Zhent-with-a-grudge is after Drogan, they're gonna be pushing hard to get at him." Maera nodded and began to jog up the street.

"Let's go."

"Wait!" Gorish hailed. "I wanna help."

Imoen gave him a dubious look. "You don't mind potentially fighting the very people you came here with?"

He shrugged. "Most of 'em are jerks."

That was good enough for her. "Well, you look like a bruiser, so I guess you'll do."

Maera looked him up and down with a faint, calculating smile. "Actually, Im...I think I have a better idea." She shared it, and got the reactions she expected. Imoen grinned. Kelsey did not.

"No," he said firmly. "That is a terrible plan."

"Oh, come on, honey. At least I've got one this time, right?" He looked unmoved, and she sighed. "I'll play the boss card if I have to."

"That isn't fair, Maera."

"I know it's not, and I'm sorry. But how many times do we have to have this discussion?"

"Every time. If you're going to put yourself in harm's way, at least let me be there with you."

She tilted her head fondly, took his face between her hands and kissed his forehead. "I love you, too." He shook his head.

"One of these days I'm going to figure out why I let you talk me into this stuff."

""Cause you like gettin' laid," Imoen opined from the sidelines.

"Shut up, Imoen," husband and wife said in unison, not looking at her. She shrugged and mouthed up at Gorish, _It's true_.

Kelsey squared his shoulders. "Alright, let's get this over with."

"Your confidence is inspiring," Maera replied, smiling at him sunnily. He made a face at her.

"You're still in trouble."

* * *

They cut through back streets and narrow alleys to the north side of the square, encountering virtually no one, citizen or bandit, on the way. Maera handed Gorish's sword back to him when they came within a block of the bandits' position. "Make it as convincing as you can," she told the orc. "I can take a few hard knocks if that's what you have to do to sell it."

Gorish cast a nervous look over his shoulder at Kelsey, who spread his hands. "She _is_ the boss," he said. "And making the unexpected work in her favor is her area of expertise."

She shot him a grin, then looked back at Gorish. "Alright, my friend. Let's do this."

They stepped out onto the square, Gorish and his apparent prisoner, and he quickly raised the hand not gripping her arm as he was challenged. "Tell the chief I got a prisoner who says she can get us the dwarf!" He gave her a credible looking shake, and she stumbled, letting him look like the aggressor. It got just the reaction they'd hoped for, and a moment later, a burlier-than-standard hobgoblin approached. Maera wanted to sneer at him, clad as he was in the garb of a boss man with something to prove: scalps on his belt, spikes in silly and possibly inconvenient places, and a comically oversized codpiece. But there was something like shrewdness in his beady eyes, and experience had taught her that it was always safer to overestimate even the most foolish seeming opponents. Besides, he was flanked by a pale, thin, jittery looking human in a black robe with the purple symbol of the Zhentarim on the left breast. Jumpy mages were the worst sort.

"You can provide me with the nasty dwarf, can you?" the mage asked. There was something oddly familiar about his voice. She shook off the mystery, and met his eyes. They were bright with arrogance and no little desperation. She could use both.

"I can. He's certainly given me no end of trouble, so if you want him, you can have him."

He eyed her closely. "You seem familiar...as if I have seen you before."

"I do get around."

"And your name?"

"Oh, let's not clutter a perfectly good business arrangement with _names_. All you need to know is that I can have my hands on Drogan in under a half hour, and-"

A voice broke from the other side of the square. "Boss! Boss Xzar!"

_Xzar?_

Option four: insanity.

"We got him!"

And there, his hands bound in front of him, was Drogan, walking between a pair of orcs. He looked as offensively good-natured as ever, but Maera could see the determination in his posture. He must have figured it out. He'd realized they were after him, and he was giving himself up for the sake of the town. It was irritating and lacked foresight, and she knew she would have done the exact same thing. Except now he had left her with no cards to play. She exhaled angrily, muttering under her breath.

"Dammit, Drogan."


	4. Home Field Advantage

"Xzar," Drogan said pleasantly. "This is just your sort of overkill."

Xzar. Of all the bad coppers.

"And how is Monty?" the dwarf asked with feigned civility that would do a bard proud.

"Oh, he died again," Xzar said dismissively. "I'm letting him stay that way for a while this time. Teach him a lesson."

Xzar and Montaron. The wild-eyed mage and his murderous little dogsbody. Maera and Imoen had met them on the Coast Way, not a day after Gorion's death, and the encounter could have pushed a lesser soul to full-blown agoraphobia. Terrified and unsure of who and what to trust beyond Candlekeep's walls, a few days in their company had been more than enough to prove to Maera that numbers were not always a guarantee of safety. How fortunate that Jaheira and Khalid had proven sane and supportive or she might have given up on the outside world in short order. The brief association had ended with Jaheira informing Xzar that she had no use for him and she would arrange for unpleasant things to befall him if he didn't find something else to do with himself. Immediately.

And apparently Drogan had a similarly high opinion of him. She looked the mage up and down. What had seemed unbearably bizarre a decade and more ago barely warranted a shrug now. And it was no wonder he didn't recognize her, regardless of the mental instability that had obviously seen no improvement in the interim. She was most definitely not the same person now that she had been all those years ago.

Drogan gave her a significant look. "Didn't expect to see you here, lass."

"I'm full of surprises."

"Ah, friends of friends!" Xzar exclaimed.

"Something like that." Maera shifted slightly, sizing up the situation. Gorish still held her left arm, but her movement had put her back facing him. There were at least a dozen Chill bandits surrounding them, not counting their headman and Xzar, and Drogan's bound hands put him at a distinct disadvantage in the throwing down department. So much for her plan. _I don't know why I bother sometimes_, she thought. It would seem it was her eternal fate to wing it. "Well, I guess we've all got what we want now. Drogan's gone and made this easier on everybody, so thank you, Drogan." He inclined his head magnanimously, ignoring her sarcasm. "I suppose there's nothing else to do for it but to go ahead and put him out of our collective misery."

Her right hand dropped past her left hip, where her sword should have been, but kept going, to the hilt of Gorish's short sword. She ripped the weapon from its scabbard, and the young orc, with no idea what to do this far off book, fell back a few steps, releasing her. She lunged at Drogan, bringing her borrowed sword down in slashing arc. He had better know what she meant to do.

He did. Drogan raised his tied hands over his head, and fortunately Gorish kept a good enough edge on his blade to cut the rough hemp cleanly. He twisted out of her path, spreading his hands wide and chanting the trigger phrase that snapped his spell protections into place around him. "Ah, you do enjoy dancing on the edge, don't you?" he laughed.

The Chill chief reacted first. He roared and swung for her with a heavily ornamented greatsword, but she ducked under the blade and reversed her grip, smashing the pommel of Gorish's sword against his bulbous nose. "Actually, I had a completely different, and better, plan, but you had to show up and throw me off, you pest."

Xzar watched the turn of events with pursed lips, utterly unfazed. "Well, you'll have to die now too," he shrugged, and the air around him crackled noisily with energy.

"Maera, you wound me!" Drogan clasped a hand to his heart, while a gesturing with the other sent four of the bandits to the ground, snoring deeply. Gorish, his eyes wide, had recovered enough presence of mind to draw his axe from the sling on his back, though the rest of the bandits were too focused on Maera and Drogan to notice him.

"Maera?" Xzar vanished, invisibility cloaking him, but his giggling voice could still be heard. "Maera! The scared little rabbit from the Coast Way! My, but you've changed."

"I grew up," she grunted, parrying a thrust from the Chill chief, whose nose was bleeding profusely.

"So does your non-plan revolve around us going at this alone?" Drogan asked, a shower of fiery sparks cascading from his hands.

"No. We've got backup. But I give them five seconds to be shocked, ten to call me nasty names, thirty to argue over who'll go first, and then-"

Twin bolts of lightning, one an eye-searing violet and the other a crisp blue-white, exploded from behind them, arcing neatly on either side of her to cut through those bandits still standing. Gorish dropped his axe and hit the ground, taking cover behind Drogan's sleepers. "Oh, that's very nice," Drogan remarked.

"Yeah, they do all right."

By now, the commotion had the attention of all the remaining bandits of the square. Maera decided it was best not to let that fight come to her. She looked down at the hobgoblin chief, bloody-nosed and still twitching, and grinned. Setting one foot on his shoulder, she gazed at the uncertain onlookers and shouted, "I can make it happen again, boys!" There was another crack of lightning behind her; a bolt shot upward to arc harmlessly into the clear night. Kelsey, indulging her need for theatrics. She sighed fondly. _He knows me so well_. "So now might be a good idea to clear off!" She leveled her sword at them. "This is a friendly suggestion. Next time will be a threat."

The chief groaned under her foot, rolling slightly, and she gave him a quick, sharp kick to keep him still, keeping her eyes and sword fixed on his subordinates. "I'm not gonna blink, fellas. Are you?"

The Chill looked at her, a lone woman in an ordinary dress, wielding a stolen sword, and realized they had somewhere else to be.

"HA!" she laughed at their backs. "That's TWICE now!"

"When did you get to be so _irritating_, rabbit?" hissed Xzar. Maera turned on her heel, catching Drogan's eye as she scanned the empty space around her.

"I'm not the one who's hiding, Xzar," she said. Drogan murmured something, and a shimmering wash of light rippled over every object within the diameter of the circle he was the center of. That included the suddenly visible form of the thin, disheveled Zhent, whose eyes fairly glowed with an off-kilter fury. "Oh, there you are. So…all this for Drogan, huh?"

"You said it yourself," Xzar sniffed, abruptly calm again. "He is a pest."

"Well, I usually cut out all the extra steps and just tell him that to his face."

"HE RUINED MY LAB IN WATERDEEP! Years of research, up in smoke! LITERALLY! And I was so close! So close I could taste it! Mind you, it tasted a bit rancid, but it had a good finish."

"He was experimenting on wererats, lass," Drogan said. "Trying to create a magical trigger that would force their transformation. It was a kindness to put the wretched things out of their misery."

"Judging Harpers!" sneered Xzar. "Always judging. Well, I can judge too, after the bird incident!"

Maera and Drogan exchanged a look, and spoke simultaneously. "The what?" "Excuse me?"

"Oh, you can't tell me you don't know about that! I sent my Monty to, ah, investigate one of your little Harper clubhouses. After all, if you can spy on us with your beady little eyes, so can we. But Monty being Monty, he got himself caught, and for his trouble, they turned him into a FINCH!"

"That-" Maera couldn't help it, even though she covered her mouth to keep the snort of laughter at bay. "That is actually really funny."

Xzar watched her chortle helplessly, his expression flat. "It is not. Do you have any idea how TIME CONSUMING anti-transfiguration is?"

"Not really, no." The hobgoblin chief groaned again, rolling onto his back, and Maera gave him another nudge with her foot. "Stay." She looked back at Xzar. "Anyway, this has been delightful, and it's been great catching up with you, really, but I'm going to give you two minutes to get out of my town before I grab you by the scruff of your chicken neck and punt you out."

There was a manic gleam in Xzar's eyes. "Oh really? Do you really think you and the dwarf are any match for me?"

"I think you'd give us a run for our money, but you're forgetting that we're not alone here." She indicated over his shoulder with a jerk of her chin. He whirled about, coming face to face with Kelsey, Imoen, and a contingent of the exhausted, irritated Watch. "You can either get out under your own power, thus choosing your destination, or we can help you leave. The latter would probably involve a straight shot to the Abyss." Xzar's lip curled.

"Not again," he muttered, turning back to glare at Maera. "I liked you better before, rabbit. All this…bravado is quite off-putting."

She shrugged. "Hard habit to break at this point."

He turned his glare to Drogan. "We're not finished, dwarf," he spat, a teleportation circle crackling around him.

"I couldn't hope to be that lucky." Drogan bowed, smiling thinly as the circle shut, and all that was left was the handful of groaning, electrocuted bandits and a whiff of ozone. Gorish looked around nervously, trying out what he hoped was a benign smile on the grumpy looking humans, and Maera gave him an encouraging clap on the shoulder.

Imoen glanced up at Kelsey. "So, Red, it was your round, right?"

* * *

The people of Berdusk were in the streets with the dawn the next morning, assessing the damages and beginning to clean up the mess left by their uninvited guests, and Drogan was among them. By the time the time all had been said and done, the night had been far advanced, and at that point he'd seen no reason to bed, so now he shuffled bleary-eyed towards the Bell and Crown for a cup of very strong tea and a little fuel to get him through the rest of the morning.

"Look out!"

The voice issued from above his head, somewhere in the branches of the spreading elm the claimed most of the shared front garden of a block of row houses. Simultaneous to the warning came the crackle of breaking twigs, and a solitary boot plummeted from the tree, hitting the pavement not two paces in front of him.

"Aw, crap." The speaker shimmied down the trunk, approaching him worriedly. "Are you okay, mister?"

She was a human child, tall for her age (which put her nose-to-nose with him), with coppery hair already falling out of messy braids and very familiar dark eyes. Her head was the only part of her visible, as she was swathed in what looked to be several bed sheets and bath towels, with two pairs of women's shoes swinging about her neck from their tied laces. She held the mate of the fallen boot in one hand.

"I'm quite all right, Miss Coltrane," Drogan said. "It missed me by a league."

Kylia bent to retrieve the boot, and straightened slowly when he addressed her. "How'd you know who I am?"

"I am a friend of your esteemed parents. The resemblance is quite striking."

"Oh," she said, in the tone of one who has heard a comment many times over. She began to unwind her shroud of linens, laying them on the grass as neatly as she could. "I dunno how all this got up there. I guess it all belongs to the Shadeglens." She glanced at the house directly in front of them, the one closest to the tree, then back at him. "You said you know Momma and Dad. Do I know you?"

He sketched a small bow. "I am Drogan Droganson. Considering the language your mother tends to use to describe me, she may have avoided speaking of me in your presence."

Kylia giggled. "Nah. I've heard Momma talk about you. It's not all bad. Besides, it's when she doesn't have anything to say that you need to worry. If she _really_ doesn't like somebody, she gets all quiet and makes this face." She narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together in a surprisingly good interpretation of Maera's ill-humor. The impersonation was over in an instant, and the girl peered at him. "Those are fire runes, aren't they?"

Drogan looked down at the embroidery on the front of his robe, and drew a circle around a grouping of symbols with a fingertip. "These are. They protect against the fire of others. Are you familiar with rune lore, child?"

She shrugged self-consciously. "A little bit. Dad's got a lot on his work robes, and Aunt Immy's taught me some."

"One could not ask for more knowledgeable teachers. Speaking of your father, is he or your mother about?"

"Ummm…we left Momma and Amë Jaheira on the square taking down those barricade thingies, and I dunno where Aunt Immy is, but Dad should still be inside." She looked back at the Shadeglens' house. "He was gonna help them clean up inside while I got the stuff out of the tree. They had all their windows broken out last night!"

"That's rather rude." Drogan took a corner of the sheet nearest him, she grabbed the opposite edge, and together they folded the pile of linens.

"Yeah…but one of the orcs stayed to help. His name is Gorish, and Dad said he was a lot of help last night." Her thin shoulders drooped. "I miss all the good stuff."

"There will be good stuff when you are old enough to properly enjoy it," Drogan smiled. "Of that, you can be certain."

That was obviously a prospect so far distant in the future it did not bear contemplation. Kylia shrugged, then giggled again. "Did you know that when orcs blush, they turn darker green? That was funny."

"I did not. You see? You have surpassed me in knowledge."

Just as they had finished with the sheets, Kelsey emerged from the house. "Oh, you got all that stuff down. Good work, Ky." She grinned up at him as he mussed her braids. "Why don't you take those back in to Mistress Shadeglen, then run up to the square and let your mother know we're done with this block?"

"Okay." Kylia gathered up the salvaged housewares, and bobbed her head to Drogan. "Nice meeting you!"

"A fine girl you have," Drogan remarked, watching her go. Kelsey beamed.

"She's pretty great." The sorcerer stretched his arms over his head. "And as Maera put it, why not put all that energy to good use this morning?"

Drogan chuckled, then sighed quietly. "This is the worst part of our work. It is bad enough to see the wicked abuse the innocent, but when they do it to avenge themselves on us…"

"But isn't that what people like the Zhentarim count on? That we'll be so afraid of what they _might_ do that we won't try to stop what they _are_ doing? Of course, all bets are off when you involve crazy people."

"Yes, Xzar has always been charmingly unhinged." Drogan puffed out his bearded cheeks. "But I suppose the twinge of conscience is a good thing. It reminds me that I still have one."

Kelsey patted Drogan on the shoulder. "And personally, I tend to prefer people who have consciences over those who don't. Tell you what: we'll head to the square, collect the ladies, and go have breakfast. My treat." He reached into his pocket, and his face clouded. He patted at it, frantically for an instant, and then with something like resignation. Brow drawn, he tried another, but did not seem surprised to discover an equal lack of contents. "Actually…I take that back. It'll be on Imoen."


End file.
